


Why Worry About it Now?

by Elizabeth1985



Series: Cockles [7]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Misha, Cockles, Depressing, Emotional, M/M, Sad Porn, They get bad news, Top Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:11:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5727532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They knew the day would come. Misha was sure they'd talked about what would happen when the show was over. It turns out that nothing had ever been figured out. And now, with the days numbered, they can't stand the thought of discussing it, of voicing the words that might lead to an outcome they both don't want. Instead, they give into the need to be together, willfully ignoring reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Worry About it Now?

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a sad, grumpy mood. This is the result. 
> 
> Thank you to [FaeGentry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeGentry/pseuds/FaeGentry) for beta'ing for me!

Misha swallowed the black coffee and looked across the table. It was quiet, quieter than normal. Not as a result of fewer words spoken, but from the news they’d learned the day before.

This would be the final season. Supernatural would officially be over after a total of eleven years.

It meant selling their Vancouver real estate. It meant trading in whatever leftover Canadian money he had. It meant…

“We should go,” said Jensen, interrupting Misha’s dour thoughts.

“Yeah,” he replied dully, pushing back from the table, chair scraping the hardwood.

They moved through the apartment on autopilot. Plates slotted into the dishwasher, mugs too. Moving to their shared bedroom and getting dressed in stark silence.

They’d talked about it before. Many times, he was sure and positive that some solution had resulted from the discussions. But as Misha looked back on all those hesitant back and forth exchanges, he realized it had amounted to nothing.

All they’d agreed on was that, “We’ll figure something out,” and “We’ll make it work,” and “Why worry about it now?”

Even yesterday, when it was late by the time they unlocked the apartment after a seemingly endless day of meetings and useless information, Jensen saw the look on his face and pulled him close. “Not right now,” he’d said.

Misha wondered if they’d ignore it until the last day. Until the final shoot? Until they were both leaving the apartment for the last time? When was the right time?

Brushing his teeth, he met Jensen’s troubled gaze in the mirror. They continued to say nothing. He felt nauseous.

There were scenes to film that day. No one made jokes, Jared refrained from pranks. Jensen and Misha did not flirt. No one said much of anything. It was a depressing atmosphere to follow up a depressing morning.

Hours moved gradually, seconds feeling like weighted tics with each and every pass.

Misha felt the desolate future spread out before him. When this job was over, he knew there’d still be cons, but far less. Jensen and Jared would both look for other work, he knew it. As would he. Schedules would seldom align.

As much as he hated to acknowledge reality, he knew it would be next to impossible to continue the status quo of his already-complicated relationship with Jensen.

What had they been thinking? he thought suddenly. His focus narrowed on the scene Jared and Jensen were working on. It was in between takes, and the two men were conversing in low whispers. About the scene? Or about… everything else, he wondered.

To those who didn’t know him well, Misha was sure he came off as goofy, aloof, but also stable. The fact was, he wasn’t. He cared about things to a point that worked against him. He loved people more than they loved him...

Jensen included—despite the man’s protests on the matter.

When the day was officially over and they were given freedom for almost twenty-four hours while things were set up for a location change, Misha picked up his personal items from his trailer and walked to the car. Jensen didn’t often get a ride from Clif when Misha was also in town.

They were long past caring if people thought it was weird. Hell, some of the crew knew outright. Soon it wouldn’t matter.

He was steering the car through the dark, wet streets of urban Vancouver when he heard Jensen heave a sigh. It was weighted with all the things they weren’t saying.

“Mish…”

Unable to answer, he chewed at his lips and stared the road down as hard as he could.

“We ignoring each other now?” The gruff accusation filled the stillness of the car.

Flicking the signal to get off the highway, Misha glanced across the front of the sedan and gave Jensen a look. “Of course not.”

“Talk to me.”

“I am. What’s there to talk about?”

“Don’t be like that, c’mon… this isn’t like before, Mish. We’ll figure it out,” maintained Jensen. But Misha noticed the lie in the undertone of his voice. There was no denying he knew Jensen as well as the man knew him.

“We always said that, you know. That we’d figure things out. But we haven’t … and I don’t know if we can.” And there it was. The truth they’d been avoiding since the moment they silently decided to go all-in. Falling in love with Jensen had been fast … _too_ easy. Complicated. Breathtaking and mind-shattering.

Naturally, because of certain realities, there had been plenty of fuck-ups along the way. But it petered out over time. Things had gotten comfortable. This sort of teasing notion of ‘forever,’ of not having to face indefinite separation.

A brusque sound from the passenger seat brought his attention around. Jensen’s jaw was hard, flexing with unspoken thoughts as he stared at the dash. “Mish…”

Again, there was his name. A substitute for whatever Jensen cared not to say otherwise. In the past, when hard times had befallen them, Misha was often the quarterback to work them through it. Jensen always defaulted to him taking care of relationship-adjacent problems. Not in a lazy way or anything, but he gathered Jensen often felt out of his depths navigating the inherent hiccups of being married, kids, and having _this._ Whatever this was exactly. It’s not like they’d written it down with scope and a clear set of parameters.

There were countless nights of whispered emotions, long stares in the middle of sex, the blatant acknowledgment of loving each other. And even knowing that what they had was paramount. Was life-changing. But never _‘rules’_ necessarily, never an open discussion of where they began or where they might end. How they’d let what they had interweave with their marriages, creating lasting connections both were reluctant to break. Or, God forbid, what they’d do if the truth became public. They’d been careless.

Love was like that, wasn’t it?

So, to think of it ending … he understood Jensen’s inability to make the words happen. Because Misha couldn’t do it either.

After the minutes dragged on, and the leftover road between where they were and their dreaded apartment building dwindled, he looked over at the man that he’d die for in a heartbeat and said, “Let’s not worry about it just yet.”

…

Edgy and emotional, it was no wonder that the second they were in the apartment, Misha pulled Jensen against him.

The resulting kiss was leaden with necessary words that had gone unsaid. The familiar taste of Jensen’s mouth, the slick glide of his tongue, made his heart ache.

Neither of them had bothered to turn on any lights, and they started to angrily strip each other naked. When their cast-off laundry was littered along the hallway and there was nothing left covering their skin, Jensen reached for him, slipping his arms tight around Misha’s torso and lifting him up, his feet leaving the floor.

Misha automatically wrapped his legs around Jensen’s hips, pulling back from a heated kiss to stare. To set his eyes on Jensen’s features and memorize everything about them. Being so close, Jensen’s eyes flickered between his, dancing back and forth, his features still tightly set. Getting to know Jensen, learning his likes, dislikes, hidden talents, embarrassing habits, annoying habits, it was the depth of his sensitivity that had captured Misha from the get-go. In that, they were very very similar.

They both took everything too much to heart. It was a sure downfall.

Dimly, he noticed the walls in the periphery. Jensen was carrying him to their room at the end of the long hallway off the living room. Finding it harder and harder to see that return of affection and love in Jensen’s darkened stare, Misha curled into him and kissed his mouth hard, licking between his parted lips.

Misha moaned, fighting back pain; nights like these were limited now. A steady countdown until the last kiss, or the last touch, the last spoken ‘I love you.’

Slow and careful, Jensen lowered him to the bed. Funny, the pattern they fell into held true even now. Not that he expected any different but still. On a normal day-to-day basis, when they were together at least, sexual interaction was usually of the non-penetrative variety. For several reasons. But if a night was specifically planned, or things became intense for whatever reason, Jensen _loved_ to bottom. It had taken a long time to strip him of any embarrassment he harboured in wanting that. Too long, Misha remembered, thinking about all the nights he spent frustratingly trying to encourage Jensen to be honest with him about his desires. But like now, when emotion was involved, they flipped. Who knew why, exactly; they’d never discussed it at length. Sure, a cursory chuckle about it once or twice, but never any real introspection about the cause.

Settling comfortably into the plushness of the duvet, Misha spread his legs to give Jensen room. Their eyes locked for a split second, and they both looked away. Jensen lowered onto him, face pressing into the side of Misha’s neck and starting to kiss and suck against his skin, rolling his hips into the vee of his parted thighs.

It felt beyond incredible to relinquish control to Jensen, to brace against the weight of a thrust by pushing into it. To know, even from that first time, that Jensen would do things right and exactly how he wanted it, whatever that meant at the time. Which was impressive, considering Jensen’s inexperience back then.

Misha ran his fingers into Jensen’s still-Dean-styled hair, needing to muss it up and disassociate the man from his character. There were times that they played around with who they pretended to be … this was _not_ one of those times. The light-brown crown of hair was stiff with product, not soft like it was fresh out of the shower and air-dried. Letting one hand slip down the back of his head, his palm smoothing down the length of Jensen’s back, Misha settled his grip on Jensen’s ass, encouraging the cycle of hips moving against him.

Talking during sex was a normal thing for them, but now it was impossible. Misha was choked up and couldn’t fathom the effort it would take to say anything given the thick, suffocating feel of his throat. He closed his eyes and arched up, turning to the side so Jensen could suck at his neck more. Misha wanted marks there, deep red splotches that stuck around for days.

Abruptly, he didn’t give a shit about public perception, about the fallout of truths hitting Twitter. It didn’t matter. Some strangled moan rose out of him and he found himself clawing at Jensen’s skin, fingers digging into his scalp and his firm ass.

He caught the rough-sounding hiccup from Jensen before a bite into his skin slammed back a surge of heartache.

They continued to rut against each other, in dry but suggestive thrusts. His thighs clamped hard against Jensen’s hips, even as the rolling motion quickened and became a little less-refined.

Jensen whispered his name again, so low he almost missed it over the heavy sound of his own breathing. There was a lost question in it, all kinds of worries that he had no answers for. Misha wanted to keep what he had, what they had. He wasn’t strong enough to give this up.

They reached an unspoken point, and worked their jumbled, intertwined position further up the bed. Jensen pulled two pillows down beside them, keeping them nearby just-in-case. He laid still, trying to catch his breath as Jensen lifted off and angled over to the night stand. Again, not saying a single word.

Watching Jensen take out only the half-empty bottle of K-Y, he was reminded of their first time without condoms. Only after clean bills of health and discussions with their respective wives had taken place. It also happened to have been the first time Jensen came untouched. That alone would’ve been something, a well-guarded memory he’d hold onto forever. Combined with everything else—Jensen on top, riding him. Flashes of rock-hard thighs angled out, an erection bouncing obscenely between. It was a stellar, uncomparable memory. _Beautiful_.

Jensen’s thick, mildly-offended voice pulled him back. “Where are you right now?”

Looking down the length of his outstretched body, he focused on the imposing man waiting there on his knees, K-Y bottle left open and loosely held in one hand, the other open against his thigh, palm glistening with the substance.

Misha shrugged. “Just thinking.”

Clenching his jaw, Jensen shook his head in annoyance. “Well, don’t.” Immediately, he put his slicked hand around his erection and worked the stuff around. They didn’t look at each other for another long moment,, purposely avoiding each other’s eyes. There were other things to keep his interest: Parted lips, the touch of wet fingers sliding down his crease, disheveled hair, Jensen’s chest rising with each unsteady breath.

The invasion of Jensen’s fingers was slow but practiced—efficient, for the most part. Jensen fingered him only for the purpose of knowing he could push his cock in easily and not have to pause or pull back to work the lube around.

Neither cared for a whole lot of foreplay; not today. After a few stretching pumps of his fingers, a twist, and withdrawal, Jensen wiped his fingers off on the duvet cover and moved into position. Misha had drawn his knees back without thinking about it, automatically giving Jensen whatever room he needed. Holding his breath, Misha felt Jensen lay a hand on the back of his thigh, the touch wasn’t a bracing one but the indication of a pause.

He waited and thought about profound moments. _Firsts,_ and _lasts…_ and everything in between.

When nothing further happened, he opened his eyes fully and looked up. Jensen hovered in a half-lean over him, features twisted. But before Misha could muster the courage to say anything about it, the hesitation was gone. Jensen took himself in hand and moved forward.

Misha closed his eyes, letting himself drown in the sensation of Jensen fucking into him. Every inch of Jensen’s solid, lubed sex, stretching in deep. It was always a shock to the system, that first thrust, that sense of being forced to take something the body intrinsically fights—relaxing and battling the urge to lock up every muscle.

As Jensen settled against him, buried to the hilt and straining not to move, Misha opened his eyes. Dark green eyes were already on him, and didn’t shift away this time.

“Fuck, I love being with you,” Jensen said, almost looking shocked after all this time. That slight Texan drawl was deeper than normal, all gravel and hard edges. Blinking hard and giving a subtle shake of his head, Jensen shut him out, breaking the trance of their stare and curled over for a kiss. A needed distraction.

It was a hot, breathy kiss... all tongue and thick moans in a whirl of activity. With a groaning exhale, Jensen withdrew his hips and came back hard. Pulled back and did it a second time. He didn’t stop or pause for a long time. They kissed in a broken, haphazard kind of way, lips smashing together when Jensen hit home. Misha grunted with each jolt of ecstasy that spiralled out from between his legs and radiated to every limb, to the tips of his fingers.

God, it wasn’t close enough. There was too much air between them, too much space. Misha grappled at Jensen’s torso with his feet and legs, trying to close him in and drag him down lower.

He hooked his arm around Jensen’s neck and pulled.

“Mish,” Jensen said softly, the name a placeholder for _I know, Babe,_ and _I feel the same._ It was barely more than a graze of the sound against his lips. Seconds later, in a low strangled whimper, Jensen murmured, “ _Oh god_ —” and squeezed around him, wrestling them together into a tighter position, forcing them to accommodate the discomfort of it, knowing they needed to feel each other, skin-on-skin, as much as possible. Who cared if it hurt their aging joints, or strained already-tired muscles?

It was awkward, and coming together wasn’t as easy. And it occasionally hurt if Jensen drove into him too hard or too deep, the angles all wrong now. But they were locked together as close as possible, foreheads pressed tight, kissing hard and frequently. Fingers dug into flesh, scratching hard enough to leave long red welts.

Every detail flooded his senses in aching familiarity. The way Jensen smelled, how his body moved during sex, the sounds he made… All the things that would haunt Misha one day.  

Misha bit his lip to cut off as many harsh sounds as he could, trying to dampen the growing feeling of coming unhinged, and raw, and … _lost._

Maybe not quite _lost_ , but _alone_ , or perhaps _without. Without Jensen. Without…_

“I love you,” he choked out, falling apart despite all his attempts not to. “Fuck—I love you too much.” Cradling Jensen’s cheeks and jerking him forward for a stiff, emotionally-loaded kiss, Misha felt the first heat of tears sting his eyes.

“Don’t,” he heard Jensen say when they parted, but the first trail of wetness was already making its way to his hairline. This wasn’t the end, he knew that, but it was the beginning of the end.

Jensen swore, his voice thick, and rutted into Misha slower, losing his pace and rhythm. It didn’t surprise him to feel Jensen’s erection wither, less hard and intrusive than before. “Babe, look at me.”

Squeezing his eyes shut to clear away the lingering wetness, Misha slowed his rickety breaths and forced himself to meet Jensen’s unyielding stare.

The tumultuous fucking had stopped completely.

When the silence stretched out, he realized Jensen was waiting for him to say something. Obviously wanting to make sure he was (for the most part) _okay_ before continuing. Holy fuck, he was so far from okay that it was laughable. It was stupid, they were weeks and weeks away from the looming “end” of it all. Plenty of time to work through an amicable parting of ways. An errant sob broke free just from the thought of it, and Jensen had to shush him with a hard set of features.

“It’s not just that I don’t want this to end,” Misha explained, voice thin and patchy, “I honestly don’t think I can handle it…”

Now that the words were out, so was Jensen. Sliding his fully-softened dick out of Misha’s body, the lingering passion became a sudden cold staleness in the air. Misha sat up against the bed and brought his knees to his chest, watching the way Jensen sat back and covered his face with his hand.

“You think I can?” asked Jensen, dragging his hand down his face and spearing Misha with his gaze. It was an accusation, a test of whether Misha actually thought Jensen loved him in any less than he loved Jensen. “Christ, you think you’re the only one who’s freaking out here?!” At the rise of his voice, Misha flinched.

There was an argument about to unfold between them. He wondered how it would end. With a solution, or with a sooner ending than he’d prepared for.

“I’m not saying that,” he answered. “What I am saying is that this has turned into something more than we intended, Jensen. I love you as much as I love my wife and that’s fucked up. That wasn’t supposed to happen. And because of the fucking absurd norms of society I have to give you up? I can’t have both. You can’t have both. Our kids would have problems at school. You don’t need to say all the fucking shit I know you’re about to say about it _. I know_!” Stewing in a sudden rise of heated anger, Misha raised his chin. “What is this worth to you?”

That stumped Jensen. His eyes narrowed and he sat quietly for a long moment. “What are you asking me?”

Stupid ideas rose to the surface. Misha tried to ignore them. They were ridiculous, nothing sustainable over the long term. Or were they? Why couldn’t they live a completely different life. A different location. A different … country.

_Fuck_ … Swapping continents wasn’t too foreign of a concept. Vicki would give him that, he knew it. She would uproot their whole family so that Misha could have her _and_ this. She was astounding that way. Of course it didn’t hurt that she cared about Jensen’s family in her own way.

“Mish,” prompted Jensen after too long a pause.

He felt stupid for even bringing it up. Shrugging he whispered, “There are … options.”

Set on dragging everything out of him, one word at a time if he had to, Jensen’s expression turned steely. “Just fucking say what you want to say.”

Taking a deep breath, he looked down at the rumpled duvet, the bottle of lube half hidden by a fold of fabric. “We could leave,” he began cautiously, nervously. “We could take our families and just move… leave it all behind. Find normal jobs—“

His words stopped short when he heard Jensen shift. Not looking up, he held his mouth closed, trying not to let a spark of hope grow with the idea that Jensen would ever say yes to something like that.

“I can’t. And it’s got nothing to do with you thinking you love me more or some bullshit so don’t go there.”

Tension surrounded them in a thick, suffocating cloud. “I know,” Misha replied in lame, reluctant agreement. “The offer is on the table, regardless.”

From the top field of his vision, he saw Jensen nod. After a while, Misha lifted his chin and looked at the man sitting still, his hand scratching into his hair, looking around the room aimlessly.

There were thoughts storming Jensen’s mind, Misha could see the whirl of them in his eyes and wanted to ask, but guilt flooded him. He shouldn’t have sprung this on them in the middle of sex. They still had time to find a way to make it work. Shedding a few tears had worked loose some of his fear and he felt the need to be physically close return.

Jensen looked up when the mattress dipped as Misha crawled towards him, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder, the other wrapping around Jensen’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah. It’s okay. I’m hurting too, Mish. And you’re right, we never planned for this outcome. I honestly never expected to love you this much. Not to the point where it feels like I’m gonna have a fucking heart attack just thinking about ending this.”

Seeing the shielded anguish in Jensen’s suddenly guarded stare, Misha moved closer. He leaned into a kiss, breathing in the relieved groan that passed Jensen’s lips. Just like that, the passion and bliss that had been driving them into a frenzy returned.

Clumsily, he positioned himself in Jensen’s lap, a hot, sticky cock nestled up under his balls. Pulling Jensen’s head back to kiss him deeply, he started to grind down. When Jensen was fully hard again, that solid ridge dragging against his balls, he rose up and gave Jensen room to work another coating of K-Y onto his dick.

The slippery leftovers were wiped and dragged up and down his crease, and for the first time in two days, Jensen smiled. “No more crying during sex,” he teased, now guiding his blunt head to Misha’s rim.

Some of the weight on his heart lifted and he grinned back, pecking Jensen on the lips. “I’ll try.”

Staring into green shadowed eyes, Misha sank back onto Jensen’s waiting sex. His mouth fell open as he took in every inch, eyelids fluttering as he saw the spark of liquid arousal reflect in Jensen’s hard stare. When he was full and resting in the sweaty dip of Jensen’s groin, he let out a huff and swiveled down, trying to work into him even more.

“Sorry, babe, that’s it.” Jensen smirked. It was ridiculous to think of Jensen’s cock being demoted into a “that’s it,” kind of statement. When the man was fully hard, it was startling. The kind of stretch and presence that took one’s breath away. Definitely _not_ inadequate.

Misha laughed. “Shut up and fuck me.”

Gripping around Misha’s torso to hold him still, Jensen built into cycle of shallow, rapid thrusts, driving into him from underneath. Dull slaps echoed the dark room. It wasn’t long before Jensen’s effort slowed, and Misha had to pull his legs in a little, brace his feet on the bed and do the work.

But it was deliriously good in the adjusted position. His thighs ached with the strain but they came together harder and deeper this way, Jensen taking a hold of his ass and plying him open so that when their bodies smashed into each other, Misha felt like he was being torn in half. And he fucking _loved it_.

“Fuck, tha—that’s good,” he stuttered, speech impeded as he rose up and down Jensen’s feverishly hot cock.

“Can I come on you?” asked Jensen, his voice hoarse. It was sweet that they’d gotten into the habit of asking. It annoyed Misha if he’d just showered or simply wasn’t in the mood and Jensen would just unload on him. Even wiped off, come tended to dry in a flaky, uncomfortable manner.

Thinking it over as he swiveled down, a hot breath pouring out between his lips, he decided he didn’t want to change positions. “Don’t want to move.”

“S’fine,” assured Jensen. “Want to come on your ass anyway.”

That dragged a thick groan from him and he grabbed Jensen’s shoulders hard and impaled himself over and over, bare skin smacking down on Jensen’s thighs repeatedly. Misha was torn, wanting Jensen to keep hold of his ass but somehow stroke his neglected sex as well. Whimpering as the two desires fought for attention, he reached back and squeezed one of Jensen’s wrists, dragging it around. “Touch me,” he begged, letting his hand move back to anchor on Jensen’s shoulder.

There wasn’t a lot of room, but Jensen worked his arm between them and closed his hot fist around Misha’s erection. It strained, jerking in the confines of a now steadily moving vicegrip. Misha welcomed the heavy, tingling sensation in his balls and curled around Jensen with his arms, letting the effort of moving become a problem for his legs.

Grinding into Jensen this way didn’t last long and the exhaustion, not to mention the growing urge to climax, caught up to him.

“Uhh... _fuuuuck—_ ” Misha landed hard, ass already starting to clench around Jensen. Taking a moment to uncurl his toes and give his thighs a break, he closed his eyes and relished how thick Jensen felt, stretched into him, cock radiating heat. And that arm wedged between them, a big hand jerking him off exactly how he liked it. “Mmnh, so good…” he mumbled, resting his cheek against Jensen’s.

After a light slap on the ass, Misha groaned but started to move again, a dim smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He moved back and forth, forcing his cramped position up and down, riding Jensen lazily but determined in his task. His eyes closed each time he felt the retreating drag of Jensen’s dick, leaving him wanting more, and more again. But knowing that each time he took it all, he was one step closer to coming undone.

Jensen angled up for a kiss, biting at his parted lips, trying to lure him closer. Misha sealed his slick lips over Jensen’s, eased his tongue into the wet heat of that familiar plush mouth and felt the responding licks of Jensen trying to take control of the kiss, trying to dip past his lips.

Lost in the overwhelming passions and command of the kiss, Misha started to rock back and forth in his lap, wedging Jensen’s hard length as deep into his ass as he could. He craved the connection of their bodies that moment more than he ever had before. He didn’t want it to end. But as the thought crossed his mind, Jensen dragged his thumb up and down the underside of Misha’s sex, moaning heavily into his mouth and every lascivious touch coalesced into a coil of energy that ruptured in slow bursts.

Misha curled up unwittingly as the first shockwave of pleasure tore through him, his body jerking hard as a shot of come jetted up between them. Unable to maintain the kiss because he needed to _fucking yell_ , he threw his head back to let everything out. Every trapped shaky exhale, exultations of frustration, impending heartache, all of it. And, oh yes… _come_. Fucking yes, lots of come. God, he couldn’t remember the last time he bottomed for Jensen.

Suddenly parched, he licked at his dry lips and managed to bring his head back onto his shoulders, his view lowering until all he saw was Jensen. That shapely mouth parted in awe, come glistening on the side of his neck and across his chest in dirty streaks.

And those eyes. “Jesus Christ, Mish—” Jensen growled and took control, driving into him from underneath in a hasty chase for his own release.

Misha could do nothing but wait for it, his body lax now and loving all the hard lines in front of him, not to mention the very hard cock ramming into him over and over with a speed that he knew if it kept up too long it would hurt unless they re-lubed and kept going.

But it wasn’t necessary. Jensen was already starting to grunt and swear, voice growing louder and sharper. Every slap of his ass on those strong thighs echoed in his ears, the strong scent of Jensen starting to sweat with exertion filled his nose. He loved everything about it; _reveled_ in the wild, unbridled way Jensen fucked him.

With jerky motions and unspoken commands, Misha rose to his knees just as Jensen started to cry out in a series of choked half-screams, a solid grip on his flushed cock as he pumped his sudden release all over Misha’s ass. Warm splashes that landed on Misha’s lower back, his asscheeks, down the crease, and the final oozes of it squeezed out against Misha’s hole, making him feel incredibly filthy. That, too, he loved.

Using the glide and ease the ejaculation provided, Misha sank back onto Jensen’s spent cock and sighed.

They fell into an embrace, holding onto each other, kissing slowly. Misha dragged his hands across Jensen’s overheated, tacky skin, feeling the muscle shake underneath.

“Time for bed?” he asked in a whisper, kissing Jensen’s face reverently.

“Hmm-mm,” replied Jensen, already trying to hoist Misha off.

After a half-assed clean up, they wound up under the blankets curled around each other, trying to cuddle past skin and bone.

Emotions ran high on the surface and Misha found himself stroking Jensen, trying to calm the man he loved to hopefully balance his own worry.

He felt and heard the unsteady pattern of Jensen’s breaths, telltale hitches that he knew well, but didn’t find it necessary to make a point of acknowledging it. They needed to sleep.

Everything would be okay.

They’d figure something out.

We’ll make it work, he thought.

_Why worry about it now?_

 

 

  

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So was the sad porn still good porn? lol


End file.
